


ink

by soulofme



Series: sheith sentence prompts [12]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bad Decisions, Drunken Confessions, Gen, M/M, Spin the Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 14:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15269901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: “You did really well—”“You’ve been staring at me all night,” Keith cuts him off swiftly.Heat crawls up the sides of Shiro’s face. He wants to deny it, but he knows there’s a grain of truth to it. More often than not, he’s had to stop himself from looking in Keith’s direction. He doesn’t know why, but something about him keeps drawing Shiro in.





	ink

**Author's Note:**

> sentence prompt #52: so...friends?

Shiro knows Keith.

Well, knows _of_ him. He knows Keith strikes like a venomous snake when he’s pissed, and that he’s been driving a red motorcycle to school ever since he was able to drive. He’s kind of friends with Pidge, which is really the only reason Lance bothered to invite him.

And now, Shiro knows that Keith never backs down from a challenge.

It starts innocently enough. Everyone’s a little liquored up due to the cheap beer Rolo had brought to Lance's party. Shiro's not sure what exactly they're celebrating, but he's not sure it matters. Everything calls for a party when it comes to Lance. Rolo had disappeared halfway through the night with Nyma, and no one had seen him since. The beer remained, though, and had been distributed to whoever wanted it.

Shiro hadn’t touched it, assuming the role of designated driver once he saw how plastered Hunk was. Pidge hadn’t gotten her license yet, so that left Shiro to be the responsible one. _As usual_.

Not that he really minds. He’d rather be responsible than have his friends end up in a ditch or something worse. So Shiro sits on the couch against the wall and watches the game of spin the bottle with mild interest.

They’re too old to be playing it, something that Pidge points out repeatedly, but Lance waves her off and centers a beer bottle in the circle they’ve somehow clustered themselves in. After a bit of needling, he gets Keith to join them.

Shiro tries not to stare at him and focuses on his water bottle.

The game stays tame for the first five minutes or so. Shiro notices how some of the others start shifting restlessly, and his stomach drops when Lance gets a sloppy grin on his face.

“Alright,” Lance slurs, reaching for the bottle. “Next one’s gonna be a good one.”

“I’m sure it is,” Keith mutters dryly. Ironically enough, the bottle lands on him. He stares at it like it personally offends him while Hunk cackles.

“It’s your lucky day, boy!” Lance crows, pointing a finger in Keith’s general direction. He’s off by a good six inches, but Shiro figures it’s close enough. “You’ve gotta…get a tattoo!”

Shiro recognizes it as a bad idea instantly. Sensing it’s time to intervene, he squeezes between Hunk and Allura and shakes his head.

“Lance, that’s a—”

“Great idea,” Keith finishes, slamming his hands down onto the ground. “Gimme a place and I’ll do it.”

Lance’s mouth opens and closes like a fish before he finally manages to grin. He and Keith look up tattoo parlors until they find one with decent reviews. They high-five, which is the friendliest gesture Shiro’s ever witnessed between them.

“We gotta send him with someone sober,” Hunk pipes up from his spot. He looks like he’s seconds away from falling asleep.

Pidge scans the circle before her eyes land on Shiro. She snaps her fingers and the rest of them turn towards him as well.

“Guys, no,” Shiro says, hastily backing up. “This is a really bad idea!”

"I agree," Allura says, shaking her head. "I don't think—"

"Relax, princess," Lance throws an arm around her shoulders. "Keithy's got it. Right?"

“Let’s go,” Keith says, yanking Shiro up by the sleeve of his hoodie and dragging him out of the room.

Now they’re in Shiro’s car, where Keith cranks the volume up on some alternative station and kicks his feet up on the dash. Shiro doesn’t have the heart to tell him to stop, not when his stomach’s twisted into ten different knots.

“Keith,” Shiro starts, swallowing hard as he does, “you know you don’t have to do this, right? It’s just a stupid dare. You don’t have to prove anything.”

“Who says I’m trying to prove something?” Keith says, his voice low and thick. “Maybe I want to do it.”

Shiro drops it after that, unsure of how to respond. The tattoo parlor is alarmingly close to Lance’s apartment, and he finds himself hoping that Lance will forget all about it come tomorrow. He has to circle around a few times to get parking, and he has barely pulled in when Keith throws open the door.

“Hey, wait!” he calls, yanking the keys out of the ignition.

Keith doesn’t wait, though, and Shiro barely manages to slide into the parlor after him. The cheap neon lights make his eyes hurt, and Shiro distracts himself by looking at the wall of pictures to his right. Whoever this artist is, they’re good. Shiro has no knowledge of tattoos other than that they hurt and have to be kept clean, but he can see talent when it’s staring him in the face.

“Who’s there?”

The tattoo artist comes from a room in the back. At least, Shiro assumes he’s the tattoo artist. He narrows his eyes when he takes in the way Shiro’s looking all over the place and the pink hue that’s settled over the bridge of Keith’s nose and his cheeks.

“I want a tattoo,” Keith says, leaving no room for argument. He grins smugly over his shoulder at Shiro.

The tattoo artist shrugs and leads him to the back where Keith tells him what kind of tattoo he wants. Shiro’s not listening, to anxious to really pay attention, and nearly pukes when he sees the giant tattoo gun the artist pulls out.

“Is he gonna be a problem?” the artist asks gruffly, motioning towards Shiro (who's mildly offended).

“Nope,” Keith says, popping the ‘p’ as he lays back, baring his side.

Shiro covers his eyes and tries not to cry.

* * *

 

The leave the parlor an hour or so later. Keith seems fine. If anything, it looks like the tattoo somehow sobered him up. He rocks on his heels as Shiro unlocks the car and opens the door for him.

They sit in silence for a few moments. Shiro chews at the inside of his cheek.

“Are you okay?” he asks finally. Keith shrugs.

“It didn’t hurt much,” Keith offers.

Shiro nods to himself and puts the key into the ignition.

“You did really well—”

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” Keith cuts him off swiftly.

Heat crawls up the sides of Shiro’s face. He wants to deny it, but he knows there’s a grain of truth to it. More often than not, he’s had to stop himself from looking in Keith’s direction. He doesn’t know why, but something about him keeps drawing Shiro in.

It would be a weird thing to admit to, though, so Shiro stays quiet.

 _Painfully_ quiet.

“I don’t mind it,” Keith adds then, leaning his head onto the passenger side window.

“What?” Shiro whispers. Keith shrugs and looks at him.

“I like it,” he says, and Shiro’s brain short-circuits.

He grips the steering wheel hard and twists his key in the ignition.

“You’re drunk, Keith.”

“Not that much,” Keith counters. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna make a move. Just thought I’d say something.”

Shiro swallows hard and focuses on getting them back to Lance’s place in one piece. As soon as they’re back inside, Keith realizes he spent the last of his money on the tattoo and can’t call a cab. Lance lets him stay over, which results in him letting Pidge, Hunk, and Shiro stay. Allura has an early shift the next day so she leaves, and Lance sulks about it for ten minutes before he kicks the rest of his guests out.

“So,” Lance drawls when it’s just the five of them, “What does it look like?”

“You can’t see it,” Keith says, holding a hand over his side. “I’m not supposed to take the bandage off yet.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Proof or it didn’t happen.”

Keith pulls his shirt up enough for the bandage to show. Shiro averts his eyes and examines a stack of magazines on Lance’s coffee table.

“Damn, Kogane,” Pidge whistles, leaning over the side of the couch. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Whatever,” Keith huffs, yanking his shirt back down. He smirks at Shiro. “This one nearly cried.”

“I did not,” Shiro snaps, even as his voice cracks mid-sentence.

“Uh-huh,” Hunk says. “I’m sure you didn’t.”

He has no room to talk, since Shiro's sure he probably would've puked, but he's too exhausted to mention that. So he shakes his head and heads into the kitchen to get another water bottle. When he returns, Lance has retired to his room, Hunk is passed out on the couch, and Keith’s in the bathroom.

“You okay?” Pidge asks him, scrolling through something on her phone. It casts an eerily white glow onto her face.

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “Why?”

“Nothing,” she says with a shrug. “You just seem kinda off since you got back.”

Shiro thinks about Keith’s confession and shrugs.

“It’s nothing,” he says, even as his heart hammers in his ears.

“Okay,” Pidge murmurs. She doesn’t believe him. But she doesn’t push, and Shiro’s never been more grateful towards her.

* * *

 

The smell of coffee wakes Shiro up the next morning. He rolls off of the couch and steps over Hunk’s body on his way to the kitchen.

He doesn’t expect to see Keith leaning over the counter with his hands wrapped around a mug. He’s shirtless, and Shiro’s eyes are practically glued to him. Keith tilts his head when he sees Shiro just standing there, which spurs him into motion.

He moves mechanically as he pours himself coffee before adding an ungodly amount of sugar to it. He wonders if nine in the morning would be late an acceptable time to add vodka when Keith clears his throat quietly.

“Hey, Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

“Other than this,” Keith starts, pointing at the still covered tattoo, “did I do anything dumb?”

The confession blares like an alarm in the forefront of Shiro’s mind. His throat feels disgustingly dry suddenly, and he swallows down a steaming mouthful of coffee.

“No,” he chokes out. “Nothing at all.”

Keith arches a brow but doesn’t ask anything else. He stands up straight and puts the mug into the sink, rinsing it out a bit with water. Shiro watches him silently, his stomach stirring unpleasantly.

“Actually…”

“What?” Keith asks, turning to face him. He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms.

“You kind of…came onto me?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Keith says instantly. Shiro laughs nervously. “I am _so_ sorry.”

“I didn’t mind.”

It’s an echo of Keith’s words from the night before. They stare at each other as Shiro’s sentence hangs in the air between them. Keith wets his lips with the tip of his tongue and Shiro utterly fails at not following the movement with his eyes.

“Holy shit,” Keith breathes out, slow and even. He rakes a hand through his hair and whistles. “You sure about that, Shirogane?”

“Uh…” Shiro falters. “Yeah?”

Keith smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He stalks around the island like a panther set on its prey. Shiro swears he feels a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck and prays that it’s a figment of his imagination.

Keith comes to a stop in front of him. Shiro looks at his face and counts backwards from a hundred. It’s the only thing that keeps him from bolting.

“So…” Keith starts, rocking up onto the tips of his toes. Shiro’s breath escapes him in a shaky exhale. “Friends?”

Shiro doesn’t get a chance to answer, because Lance announces his presence in the kitchen with an obnoxious yawn. Shiro jumps back from Keith like he’s been caught making out in the backseat of his car by his father.

“Morning, folks,” Lance says. His eyes snap to Keith and he whistles lowly. “Can we see it now?”

Keith rolls his eyes but carefully peels of the bandage. Shiro’s heart gets lodged in his throat as he looks at the snarling lion inked onto Keith’s ribs. It easily takes up most of his side, and Shiro can’t stop staring at the animal’s fierce expression. The fire-red mane makes it even all the more threatening.

“That’s fucking sick, bro,” Lance says, sounding entirely genuine as he crouches down to get a better look.

“Yeah,” Shiro manages to get out. “It’s pretty sweet.”

“Go big or go home, right?” Keith says, craning his neck to get a better look at it. “I didn’t know what else to get, so…”

“It suits you,” Shiro blurts out. Keith gives him a strange look before he nods.

“Thanks,” he says.

Lance stands and places his hands on hips.

“Damn. You exceeded my expectations.” 

Keith shrugs. “I don’t like backing down.”

“Well,” Lance nudges Keith, carefully avoiding the fresh tattoo. “I guess you’re part of the team now.”

“Guess so,” Keith says, giving Shiro a look full of intent.

Shiro chokes on his own spit.


End file.
